A Letter to Fred Weasley
by Anrheithwyr
Summary: Happy birthday, brother. Another year older, another year wiser, as they say, right? Or, should it be another year older, another year closer to you? Depressing, I know, but it's true. I count the birthdays every year, because it's one more birthday we'll never celebrate; one more birthday that means I'm a little bit closer to seeing you again.


A Letter to Fred Weasley:

April 1st, 2008

Dear Forge,

Happy birthday, brother. Another year older, another year wiser, as they say, right? Or, should it be another year older, another year closer to you? Depressing, I know, but it's true. I count the birthdays every year, because it's one more birthday we'll never celebrate; one more birthday that means I'm a little bit closer to seeing you again. I should make sure not to let Angie see that-she'll try to send me back to that 'grief counselour' again. It's a bit ridiculous, if you ask me, but she thinks I'm depressed.

So, I've made it. The big 3-0. 30, _Merlin_, Fred. Can you believe it, I'm 30 years old! Weird, I can still remember being 10, just you and I with Uncle Bilius on a fishing trip, so quiet we can hear the birds cawing. One of the few times we ever got almost completely to ourselves, without any other kids complaining, or asking for help, or whatever. It's weird, but I sometimes still count out seven kids at Mum's dinner table. I can still see your bright head across from me, making funny faces into your mash potatoes.

Of course, our little family of nine has grown in ten years. I mean, we've all gotten married, even Percy, though I'm not so sure how his wife puts up with him. (Of course, the only exception is Charlie, who's still in Romania, giving his love to murderous dragons.) But, there's also grandchildren to think about. Ten of them so far, and little Ronniekins is having a boy this June. I've only got the one, Freddie, but he's all we really need. Healer's aren't too sure Angie can survive another kid, so we've held off for a while, trying. Freddie will be five later this year-he's already starting to look like us. Same hair and freckles and mischievous little smiles.

Ten years. God….it's been nearly ten years since I saw you last, and we were really just kids back then. 20, but we still thought we were invincible. 20, but we were still naïve enough to think we'd both survive. Looking at Harry and Ron and Hermione, even now, you can tell they never even came close to thinking that. It was just us that were idiots enough to think we were safe. And now, I'm here, and you're not. I can hear you in my head, sometimes, when it's real quiet at the shop. You say goofy stuff, like '_Make sure to get Mum a card_.' or '_Angie's left the soup on for too long, it'll burn_.' It's like you're just in my head, keeping me alive-and it's not my subconscious like that dumb counselour said, when I told her about it. I know it's you.

Remember when we starched all of Ron's underwear, when he was seven? Or when we hid Percy's prefect badge the Christmas we were thirteen? We were always a little wild, weren't we? Wild pranksters with something to prove. The greatest prank of all, though, was that I thought we would always be together. I thought we'd end up dying together, same second, same room. Two old, greying men in St. Mungo's, laughing about all the old times. Turns out, I'm the only one getting old and grey. Lucky me.

I'd like to say I'm not bitter. I'd like to say I've moved on, gotten over losing you. It's been ten years, after all. I should be fine, I should be able to smile and mean it. I've got a wonderful wife, a fantastic son. But, despite all this, all I can think of is 'You're not here to enjoy it with me.' And you're not. You're far, far away, somewhere I can't go right now. I'm _not _happy, and I _can't _smile and mean it. I'm absolutely bitter-why shouldn't I be? My other half has disappeared, and I just don't know what to do. You and I, we had a connection. A connection no one else ever seemed to understand, a beautiful connection between not just twins or brothers, but as _souls. _

I've named my son after you, of course. Fred Weasley, the last connection I have to you. And, sometimes, if I'm tired, and I squint in just the right way, it's sort of like as if you were back with me. Like we're still together, instead of so very far apart; and then, I'll open my eyes and realise, this is Fred, but it's not the _same _Fred. Freddie's not you-of course he's not, why did I ever think that? I tried to replace you with my _son_. And I failed, of course, because Freddie is his own separate person-he's not you, no matter what I try to do. If he ends up a stuffy, boring Ravenclaw, I'm going to have to accept it; Freddie's his own person.

I think that's one of those things I never really accepted about _myself_, that I, too, am my own person. My own being, my own identity. I spent twenty years as part of a set, never truly getting that _I could continue alone_. I could survive as my own person, completely separate from you. It's taken me thirty years to figure that out. And I still wish it wasn't true. I still want to cling to the idea that I need you, because, on some level, I _do _need you. I spent so long being your other half that I still can't quite figure out how to function any other way. I am part of a set.

Today, I turned 30, Fred. I turned 30 without you. I'm going to have to finish my life, without you. And that's not okay.

Love,

Your brother,

Gred


End file.
